


Still Life

by sasha_dragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_dragon/pseuds/sasha_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the brothers track down a cursed object in a college art department, someone is going to have to provide a distraction. Thank goodness Dean is willing to take one for the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Life

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The only thing I hope to make out of this fic is some happy fan girls.  
> Warnings: Does naked Dean count as a warning, or an enticement?  
> Notes: When I saw that dizzojay had become a mod over at spn_bigpretzel, I decided to her write her a little piece of fluff. This is that fluff. I just hope dizzojay likes it. Many thanks go as always to my long suffering beta, bigj52 a woman who toils under the enormous strain of turning my scribbles into English. Also thank you milly_gal, for braving the horrors that are my unbeta’d scribbles, and improving it with your hard work and brilliant suggestions.

Sam kept glancing at the classroom door, as he rummaged through the box of art supplies. He could hear voices, very excited voices, and he grinned widely as he continued his search. They were all waiting for tonight's main attraction; the male model for their life drawing class. It was someone Sam was extremely familiar with.

If he was really lucky, he’d be able to enjoy the performance just as much as everyone else!

Sam continued to scrabble around for what had brought them here in the first place; to a college campus in butt end of nowhere, and this, thus far, relatively painless hunt.

He was desperately trying to find a pallet knife that’d belonged to a serial killer - a man by the name of Evelyn Wilberforce, the Third. The minute he told Dean the man’s name, his brother smirked into his pie and said, “Evelyn? Dude, they gave the poor son-of-a-bitch a chick’s name. And everyone’s surprised he went psycho?” Sam had rolled his eyes, and told Dean to shut up and finish his dessert.

A series of very artistic deaths had led him and Dean here, and who knew arterial spray was great for creating abstract pieces? After a little digging, and a suitably creative cover story for the two of them for the duration of the hunt, he and Dean had become art students, researching their thesis. The use of arts and crafts in violent offender rehabilitation, they’d finally found who they were looking for.

They’d introduced themselves to the Art Professor; a wonderful lady by the name of Jane. She was more than happy to help them with their research, as she had recently taken delivery of a box of art supplies from the nearby maximum security prison. The charitable donation to the college from the unit’s governor had come about after the tragic death of one of the inmates. Jane happily told them all about it, whilst casting flirtatious glances in Dean’s direction and gushing about his ‘fantastic bone structure’.

Unfortunately for Jane the generous governor had neglected to mention Evelyn’s extracurricular activities.

Before Evelyn had been caught, the budding artist had murdered seven people, and used their blood to create his masterpieces. During his incarceration, in an attempt to stop him attacking other inmates, he’d been allowed to continue to paint. Right up until the moment _Da Vinci junior_ as Dean christened him had been shanked in the yard, during an intense artistic debate over the legitimate uses of tagging and graffiti as art forms.

Not long after Jane had taken delivery of the much-needed supplies, bodies began dropping all over campus, making pretty patterns, and the front page of the local newspaper had inevitably pinged the Winchesters’ radar.

The brothers interviewed the professor and the governor for their thesis of course, and it hadn’t taken them long to figure out what exactly had happened. Why students and faculty alike were beginning to pile up in the most artistic of ways.

They’d gone back to the college to break into the supply cupboard and destroy the pallet knife, only to be chased away by a very determined security guard with a flashlight and delusions of being an _untouchable_. As she shepherded them away from their goal, Dean called her Ellie Ness in frustration. The security guard puffed herself up to her full height at the insult, and the peak of her cap was level with Dean’s collarbone. Brandishing her flashlight like a night stick she’d berated Dean for being a hoodlum, who was trying to lead his ‘nice’ young friend astray.

As they’d slunk away, Sam valiantly attempted to stifle his laughter as Dean pouted like a five year old who’d been told he couldn’t have anymore candy at being branded a hoodlum.

Just as Sam was sure he was going to have to bribe Dean with pie to get him to leave, he’d spotted an interesting flyer on the notice board. “Hey, Dean. According to this, Jane’s looking for a model for one of her art classes. How’s about I volunteer to do that and you go find the knife? A quick salt and burn and we’re done.”

Sam had quickly torn down the notice before their tiny nemesis showed up, and started attacking Dean’s ankles with her trusty flashlight.

Dean had snatched the flyer out of Sam’s hand, and read the first line, trying to keep a straight face. “Life Studies! Ain’t that nude modelling?” He paused as a group of giggling college co-eds walked by; he winked at them, enjoying their deep blushes and louder giggles as they scurried past. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...How could I let you do that? It’s not right, me letting you expose your skinny ass to a group of ogling female artsy types. As your big brother I feel it’s only right that I go in your place to protect your modesty. You wouldn’t wanna be objectified by a bunch of college girls, now would you?”

Dean had patted Sam on the shoulder; he adopted a solemn expression, and lowered his voice. “It’s okay, man. I’ll take one for the team, and you just make sure you burn Da Vinci Junior’s brushes. I’ll keep the young ladies entertained, and out of your girly hair.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yahtzee!” Sam grinned triumphantly as he finally found what he was looking for.

One very hastily performed banishing ritual and he was off in the direction of Dean’s ‘Life Class’. Slipping in the back of the room, Sam forced down a laugh he could feel trying to erupt. He knew if Dean heard his little brother’s moose call of a laugh, Dean would realize that something was up.

Sadly for Dean, he hadn’t read the whole of the poster before ‘volunteering’ his services, and now the younger Winchester couldn’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when he realised who exactly he was posing for.

Dean stood in the small changing room and shrugged off his leather jacket, dropped it onto the chair then started toeing off his boots, before yanking at his socks. He was just unbuttoning his red flannel shirt when there was a knock at the door.

Jane peered round the door and smiled warmly before walking inside. “Dean, I don’t know how to thank you for doing this. It can be so hard to find willing models for these classes. You’re a real life saver.”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly as he slipped his shirt all the way off.

Jane licked her lips, taking in the way his tight black tee clung to his broad shoulders, accentuating his slim waist and beautifully defined biceps.

“It’s no problem, Jane; I like giving back to the education system. Do you want me to take off all my clothes or… ?” He rested his hand on his belt buckle and waited patiently.

Jane’s natural instinct was to ask the green-eyed hunter take everything off, bar the boots. She took a deep breath, tried to hide the way her eyes travelled the length of his legs, enjoying the way his work-worn jeans clung to them. She managed to find her voice. “Do you mind being totally naked? Only, some of our models like to have a little something to preserve their modesty, but if you’re willing…” She licked her lips, reached out and snatched up a gauzy wisp of material; she offered it to Dean whilst muttering a prayer under her breath, hoping he wasn’t really that concerned with ‘modesty’.

Dean did nothing to hide the smugness behind his smirk as he toyed with the amulet around his neck. “I got just the thing,” He paused and looked a little worried before gripping the hem of his tee. “I’ve got a few scars. That gonna be a problem? I’m a sporty kind of guy; you know how it is when you wipe out on your snowboard,” he said as he pulled his black tee up over his head.

Dean heard a whimper as he yanked the tee off, and he shot Jane a coy but pleased look from under his long eyelashes.

Eyes glazed, deep blush creeping along her cheeks, Jane appeared more than a little flustered as she fanned herself with the scrap of material.

As Dean ducked his head, and started to tug on his belt, he heard a gasp and looked up to be met with Jane’s questing gaze roving the expanse of his exposed skin. She was tracing his hunting trophies with her eyes, and suddenly he felt more embarrassed than he had in a long time.

He usually claimed that ‘chicks dig scars’, but this woman was used to dealing with ‘perfect’ models, and he squirmed slightly under her intense scrutiny.

Dean was about to say something when Jane closed the gap between them, and smiled up at him.

Jane caught the uncertainty, the shyness in his expressive green eyes, and figured it wasn’t an emotion he allowed to shine through very often. She wanted to reassure the young man, to let him know exactly how beautiful he was. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Dean. Your body is...I hesitate to use such a ‘flowery’ word, but it’s beautiful, and your scars tell the story of your life. Perhaps when the class is done you could tell me how some of them happened?”

Dean felt her carefully, almost reverently, running her fingers over the scar on his left shoulder; the one Pa Bender gave him as a souvenir of his stay in Crazy Town. Her smile was warm and inviting, without an ounce of pity in her eyes, and he liked that, found pride in it.

Dean licked his lips as she continued her slow exploration, shivering as her fingertips brushed along the reminders carved into his flesh of past hunts and previous brushes with the unknown.

Dean’s breathing hitched as Jane’s fingers found the small scar on his right hip. She stroked the raised, smooth flesh and bit her lip. “As much as I’d like to carry on with this, I have a classroom full of ladies who are dying to draw you. Maybe you could sit for me later? I’d love to capture you in oil.”

Before Dean had the chance to make some crack about exactly what she’d like to do with her paintbrush, her lips slid across his, her hands came up to tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck, and he wrapped her in his strong, muscular arms, dragging her flush against his bare chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam was sitting impatiently at the back of the classroom, wondering what the holdup was. He was just dying to see his big brother’s debut as an artist’s model. He’d even grabbed himself a pad and pencils from the supply cupboard, so as not to look out of place amongst the women studiously scratching away around him. Well, considering the students here tonight, even _more_ out of place.

The changing room door swung outwards to reveal Jane, looking a little flustered, her eyes bright and shining, cheeks stained pink. She tried absentmindedly to smooth down her shirt and tidy her hair, but Sam would be able to spot his brother’s handiwork anywhere.

The slightly dazed and confused look in the eyes, the flushed cheeks, and the small half smile quirking the lips were all fairly common occurrences and side effects of Dean’s presence.

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled; at least he’d have the motel room to himself tonight. No snoring, no bitching about being forced to watch the Discovery channel, despite the fact Dean loved it as well.

As Sam was coming up with suitable puns to do with artists and their paintbrushes to tease his brother with later, the door swung open again and an excited hush fell over the room.

Dean swaggered out wearing nothing but a towelling robe and a smug grin.

He wandered to the spot Jane pointed him to, and in one fluid motion he whipped the robe off. As it pooled around his ankles, the room filled with audible gasps of barely repressed appreciation.

Sam was sure he heard at least one woman growl and could see another tucked away in the corner snapping photos on her phone, for posterity of course.

Sam lifted his own phone and started taking pictures, wanting to capture the exact moment when his brother realised that he wasn’t strutting his stuff in front of a group of college-aged girls. But a bunch of over sixties in an art appreciation class.

Dean didn’t disappoint. His brother gave the class his best ‘come to bed’ pout and smile before his eyes widened in shock, as he took in the ages of the women surrounding him.

Sam was sure he heard a whimper as Dean realised he wasn’t surrounded by impressionable young women, but predators.

Dean wasn’t a consummate hunter for nothing, though; he squared his shoulders, steeled himself for an hour of objectification. He showed no fear as he settled himself into a comfortable pose. All the same, the youngest Winchester could see his older brother checking the room for suitable exits, just in case.

One ‘artist’ readjusted her thick lensed glasses and raised her hand. “Jane, I thought you said he’d be _naked!_ ”

Jane halted her furious scratching. What clothes? Where!

She’d watched Dean remove the last of his layers, thoroughly enjoying the bunching of muscle under smooth freckled skin, as he’d bent to pick his jeans up. As far as the professor was concerned, Dean’s ass should be immortalised in marble or bronze! Hell, any medium would do, as long as she was the one to make the cast.

She composed her thoughts and tried to figure out what Mrs Wilkinson was complaining about. Suddenly she grinned and shook her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. Dean was feeling a little shy and he said he’d only come out and pose if he could ‘wear’ something.” She nodded at the ever-present amulet and grinned. “Is the necklace bothering you too much?”

Another member of the group spoke up, tsking and hissing at the woman still grumbling in the corner. “Shirley, will you hush with your damn whingeing, you’ll scare the poor thing back into the changing room. Then we’ll end up with Bert Matheson again. I don’t know about you, but I think this boy is a whole lot prettier than old Bert. Plus I can’t see his ass hitting the backs of his knees when he’s stood upright. Just sit down and draw, damnit!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the end of the class Sam stood waiting for Dean, watching his brother lap up all the attention from the very appreciative group of pensioners. He’d pouted, smouldered and flirted his way through the entire experience, and now he was surrounded by ‘adoring’ fans!

Sam was content to just watch, enjoying Dean’s attempts to fend off the ladies all pawing at his robe, struggling to keep it closed and on his shoulders as wrinkled fingers tugged none too gently at the material.

He heard Dean yelp and pushed his way through the throng of women, glowering as he towered over the ‘ladies’.

How exactly had he ended up having to defend his brother’s honour?

He squealed and jumped as he felt a hand cup his ass and squeeze.

Dean and Sam stood back to back, ready to fight the oncoming hordes, safe in the knowledge they’d got each other’s backs.

Sam had just about had enough when he spotted a determined Mrs Wilkinson making a beeline through the mass of heaving and giggling women. Grabbing Dean’s arm he yanked him towards the changing room, only stopping when he’d slammed the door shut and braced his back against the wood, feeling the ladies in the other room jostling and shoving against it.

Dean smirked up at his little brother. “My hero! Although I oughta kick your ass for setting me up like this. Why didn’t you warn me, Sammy? I didn't realize I’d be modelling for the mid-western chapter of Cougars Anonymous! My ass is gonna be black and blue for weeks. Damn, those girls were _handsy!_ ”

Dean dropped the robe and absentmindedly rubbed his ass, trying to get some feeling back into his cheeks.

Sam whistled when he saw the state of his brother’s butt. “Man, you’re gonna have trouble sitting in the Impala for a couple of days. But it serves you right for not reading the notice properly. By the way, thanks for taking one for the team. Least my pert little ass is untouched, well _mostly_ untouched.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, pulled up his jeans and flipped Sammy off, as his baby bro rubbed the spot where he’d had his own ass pinched. “I take it you managed to deal with our little ‘problem’, and I wasn’t objectified for nothing!” Dean asked as he threw his shirt back on.

“It’s taken care of; our resident artistic ghost has finger painted his last masterpiece. Are you about ready to head back to the motel? I could really use some sleep.” Sam stretched and yawned as there was a knock at the door, making Sam sigh and roll his eyes. “Honestly, you’d think your fan club would be ready for home and hot chocolate.”

Dean snatched his jacket off the side. “Hey, there’s a lot to be said for the ladies with experience, Sammy. Man, I remember this one waitress, back in Tampa; I learned so much from her, she had this amazing… ”

Sam threw up his hands in horror and shuddered, “Woah, woah. I really don't need to hear any more of that sentence. I’ve been traumatized enough for one night, without having you reliving your experiences with Mrs Robinson.”

“I’m telling you Sam, experience counts for a lot, and her name wasn’t Mrs Robinson. You gonna answer that door or are you still defending my honour?”

Sam shook his head and suppressed another shiver before stepping back and opening the door.

Jane strolled in, smiling. “Thanks, Sam.”

She turned to Dean and grinned. “It’s safe for you to come out now, Dean. I’ve sent the ladies home for the night. I must say though, you’ve proven very inspirational. Come and have a look at what the ‘girls’ have done.”

Jane led them to where pictures rested on easels. Sam blushed as he took in the detailed drawings; there was one common and very prominent feature in all of them.

Dean stood shoulder to shoulder with his little brother, enjoying the fiery blushes and downcast furtive glances he kept shooting at the pictures. “What can I say? The ladies have definitely captured my best feature, perfectly. I think Mrs W has real talent, great eye for detail; she’s even managed to get all my freckles in the right places.”

Sam groaned piteously and put his head in his hands, trying to block out the repeated images running on a loop in his badly abused brain.

“Hey, Sam, would you mind making your way back to the motel on your own? I promised Jane I’d sit for her tonight. She wants to capture my masculine beauty by candlelight, and there was the promise of oils.” Dean said with a smirk and a quirk of the eyebrow.

Sam lifted his head and squinted at his brother. “No, doofus. Jane wants to paint you with oil paints. Not smother you in baby oil.” He looked over Dean’s head and spotted Jane; she was packing her bag, and Lord only knew where she’d gotten hold of the big bottle of baby oil she slipped into the bag with the rest of her art supplies. She looked at Sam, smiled and winked as she zipped up her carry case.

Sam looked back at his brother, to find Dean with his head tilted to one side, staring intently at one of the paintings. As he shuffled from foot to foot, moving from side to side, “Hey, Sam. Is it me, or does _Little_ Dean follow you round the room?”


End file.
